


all that a young lady ought to be

by SearchingforSerendipity



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Charlotte Bingley, Friendship/Love, Lesbian Character, Regency, Rule 63, consensual marriage of convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingforSerendipity/pseuds/SearchingforSerendipity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Trust and companionship, they both agreed, were very fine things, and they congratulated each other in having found a spouse that so suited the other, as best friends ought to."</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte Bingley's journey to married life is unconventional, how she goes about it more so, but she and Darcy make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

They marry in Pemberley, at her brother's insistence. Darcy does not argue, for it was where his own parents were wed, but he does ask her if she was considering somewhere else.

"Oh, I am perfectly content, Darcy. Pemberley's church is lovely. And your parents we married there! It's as if they are brought closer to us."

Darcy had stared at her, the way he did when he was surprised at their understanding. He did made certain she had a say in the flower and such things, which she was grateful for, even if making choices was not ever her strongest suit. He had helped her tremendously in standing up more and more to Christopher and Lewis, for thought they loved her in their own way, they had been wont to walking around with puffed chests since her betrothal.

Charlotte had not lied; she was no good at falsities, even when it was the most courteous thing to do, they made her dreadfully flustered. And in truth she found the church beautiful. All of Pemberly was magnificent. She felt rather insignificant, standing in under it's great arches and statues. And now she was to be Mrs. Darcy.

Truly the world was a very strange, very pleasant place.

 

From the time she was out, at a measly fourtheen, Charlotte Bingley had suitors.

She liked them all. As a rule Charlotte liked everyone. She liked meeting new people, learning what they liked, learning to make them smile.

Her father had been like that. Charles Bingley had been a kind man, who loved his business and loved his choldren, his daughter most of all. Papa had been been the greatest man in the world.

"Father was a fool," she heard Christopher tell Lewis. The last of the wake guests had left. Charlotte had been restless, making her way to her drawing room, nibbling on funeral biscuits listlessly. Before, she had felt guilty for not doing her duties as hostess properly, and she had gone to the housekeeper in search of some task. Charlotte had done the part of hostess for almost a year, but already Lewis' wife had clutched that standing.

Charlotte did not mind, she would rather not have the weight of that responsibility, but it would have been good to feel useful. Now that the guests were gone and the servants, all draped in black, were busy sweeping away crumbs and the like, Charlotte had nothing to do but hide in her room and weep. Indeed, her eyes threatened to water at every moment, the image of her father's wan, cold face before they closed the casket clear as crystal in her mind's eyes. But she was positively stifled in her room, where all the pillows were already wet.

Could she be blamed for eavesdropping om her brothers, if they left her to her own devises?

"He was a fool, but I will not be one," Lewis continued. "His business plan was far too listless. He lodt his vision in his latter years, and we all suffered for it. And you know how he never listened to me, never thought about passing on the money before his death."

"Indeed, it was as you say," Lewis said, for most things in Lewis Bingley's life were as his brother said.

"And his insistence that we continue the business! Trade has been useful to us, but a connection to it will be a blemish in our family if we wait too long. I told him! We have the money, the mean, let us buy an estate and join the Bingley name to that of the gentry. But he never listened. Bah! Foolish, foolhardly, arrogant old man."

"I remember," Lewis said. Lewis always remembered what Christopher wanted him to, and conveniently forgot what was unpleasent to his brother.

"Quite right. He had a keen nose for oportunity, I will concede, Father had, bur no sense for the importance of the social spheres. It is high time Charlotte was out, for one thing. What use is she prancing about, now that Mrs. Bingley can do her tasks as well and better? No, I am quite decided. Charlotte is perfectly mannered, if a little excitable, and she will make an excellect wife to a Baron, or some such. It is high time we Bingleys went farther in life, and she is our ticket from the slums of trade."

 

  
It wasn't very sisterly, how much it amused her that her brothers thought that it had been them orchestrating this connection. Certainly, they had made certain that their sister was in the same places Mr. Darcy visited, arranging invitations to salon and dinner parties. It had been the same way with the other gentle and while Charlotte did not mind that her brothers were looking out for her prospects, she did wish they would ask her opinion on the gentlemen differently, without it being an afterthought.

It had been Georgiana the first Darcy Charlotte met, however, some five months before the Ramsgate disaster. They had liked each other a great deal, and when her brother insisted in meeting her before allowing them to correspond, Charlotte had guessed that he had heard of her brothers' more mercenary approaches to business and pleasure.

 

This is the conversation she never knows about between the Darcys:

"I know you liked Miss Bigley, Georgie, but her family is from trade, Georgiana. Even putting the difference of statuses to the side, for the gap is not so great if the friendship is true, I have heard unflattering tales of her brother's natures."

"I know, Lottie --that is, Miss Bingley, told me about it. She is not very pleased with some of their behavior in society, nor the mercenary way they go about her affairs."

"Did you truly speak of such intimate matters on so short an acquaintance?"

"No, not quite, but I could see what she meant to say. We are both far too courteous to speak of such things in public, and you know I am reticent by nature. I know we have spoken on it, and that it is no shame not be as high spirited as others are, but truly, for all her good humor I believe she is quite lonely. And so am I."

"Oh, Georgie. We could start to visit Aunt Matlock sooner, if you wish, and as much as it may pain me to say it will not be so long until your coming out."

"I know, and I promise I will try to be patient. But two years is very long to wait, and all the ladies in out acquantance are so much older than me. Miss Bingley is also, but she has a spirit to her manner that is quite bright and welcoming. She reminds me of you, somewhat."

"Of me?"

"There is a core of good nature in you both. Oh please brother, allow me to have this one friend. Miss Biogley is so very kind, and we would be such good friends!"

"I shall have it make the young ladies acquaintance. Not everyone improved with time and further relations, Georgie. I should not like you to be disappointed"

"Thank you, brother! I promise you will like her very well. Such friends we shall all be!"

 

So they met, and Charlotte had liked him, the way it was hard not to like Darcy when he was in Georgiana's presence. They had agreed that his sister was marvelous in all matters, early in the meal, making Georgie blush very sweetly. Mr. Darcy, tall, handsome and start, softened in the face of his sister's shy smile.

Charlotte, giddy from good company free of instructions on how to behave to attract a rich husband, had in turn told tales of her failings in the musical arts. Not very ladylike, or be sure, but neither was torturing cats and that's how her playing sounded, she assured them. By dessert even Darcy was smiling slightly. Charlotte had left with a free invitation, addresses for Georgiana and the pleasure of having made a new friend, perhaps two.

Mr. Darcy --though t was quite unseemly how quickly he became Darcy in her mind-- she found to not be very talented at friend making either. She could only guess why; he had seemed intimidating at first, and he did have a tendency to brood, but he was a kind and generous man, witty and highly intelligent. They both knew of her brothers plans, and under every conversation was a layer of understanding, about Darcy's need for a wife, and most importantly, Georgiana's desire for a sister. Charlotte made as if she did not hear the unspoken and went on as any friend would. For that Darcy liked her more than he would have.

But any possible might-be only solidified with Ramsgate. One evening Charlotte had come to Darcy with a letter from his sister, torn with worry and guilt. He had ridden out at once, just in time to avert any disaster. Charlotte had not been far behind.

The following weeks, nursing Georgiana thought the afterwards of heartbreak and the realization of evil in the world, had strengthened their friendship. Before her brothers' came to fetch her, he had proposed, one evening strolling by the fountain. The air had been crisp with early autumn, birds fleeing to Warner places. She had been delighting herself in e crunch of leaves under her heels while he watching, lips curled slightly, when he suddenly asked the question. She had grinned, agreed, and that was that.

 

"I will need a heir." He said abruptly. It was their wedding night. Charlotte was sitting by the mirror, passing her fingers through her hair, relishing in having it out of the tight braids. Darcy -he would always be Darxy to her, the way two friends might call each other by their last name- was standing by the bed and had now turned on his heels, staring at her. She had thought he had been struggling with disrobing without a valet's help, but apparently not.

'Pemberly needs an heir," he corrected. There was something altogether blessed hung in his face, almost puppyish. She had heard other women call their husbands by all manner of names, in the weeks before, when they saw fit to offer her advice for this night. Some were steeds, using them like mares, others were Bulls blind with focus. One lucky lady had compared her husband to a gentle swan, making herself the target of envious gazes for the rest of the afternoon.

"I know. But it doesn't need to be now." She smiled at the way he relaxed at her words. "Christopher can keep his tutting to himself," she added, and felt mightily rebellious for it.

Darcy smiled tentatively back at her. Soon enough he had found a book for himself, Charlotte brought out her drawings, and the air was filled with the sounds of chalk on paper, pages rustling, quiet conversation. A better wedding night she could not have imagined, with hopefully many more alike to come.

For the honeymoon, Ireland. The Bingley's were from there, it must be said, thought it was kept as a shameful family secret. Charlotte, who carried in her lingering glances and traitorous blushes a far more shameful one, had expressed a desire to see the land her grandparents had been from. Darcy had confessed that he had always felt a certain curiosity for visiting the ancient castles and places of worship, so it was agreeable to him as well.

Charlotte enjoyed it immensely. It was grand fun, walking the endless fields and green forests, sometimes even castle courtyards, with a dear friend - her husband! Carrying her sketch books and a food basket, Darcy leaned down to speak to her or, more often, watched her oh and ah at different sights. He was a well of information, she found, about old battles, the whens and whys that made her doze when written but seemed so very exciting when he retold them.

Charlotte, who had had an extensive education in manners, drawing and music, languages and dancing, enjoyed listening Darcy speak about the classics he so loved. Some of it she did not understand, and she would readily admit to not having great interest in history, but it was good to him to enthuse on what he liked, in that Darcy manner of his, and she enjoyed listening to him and partaking in his interests a great deal, as any friend would.

Neither of them was suddenly more interested in marital relations; Darcy not at all, Charlotte more inclined to blushing at the red headed maids from the inns. He didn't tease her about it, nor anything more cruel, for which she was grateful. Trust and companionship, they both agreed, were very fine things, and they congratulated each other in having found a spouse that so suited the other, as best friends ought to.

She had never doubted at they would come to be happy together, but during those weeks alone in new and exciting places, she was quite certain they loved each other very well. Not in the manner Juliet had loved Romeo, perhaps, but more in the fashion Orpheu had loved Eurydices. Charlotte would not hesitate in bringing back Darcy from the dead if it was in her power, God protect his soul, and he would do the same for certain, despite their combined lack of musical talent.

 

 

They returned to England two months later, Charlotte's cheeks more freckled than ever, her sketchbook full to bristling, without counting the drawings she had sent Georgiana already. Darcy had grown restless with the separation from his home and sister, but he did admit to a certain reluctance to return to normal society.

Charlotte, for her party was quite nervous. Darcy had warned her, on the trip back, but even so the neat line of Pemberley's help standing at attention to greet them, was mightily impressive. Charlotte had tried so hard to remember all their faces, attaching some names to the features, but the weeks preceding the wedding had been a positive blur of activity, and besides the wonderful Mrs. Reynolds, Mr Peterson the butler and her maid Caitlin she did not remember the other staff.

Alighting from the carriage, she had the sudden certainty that her life was irrevocably changed. She grinned, wife's bonnet sliding askew. It was all so terribly exciting, and she intended to make the very best of it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"They like you well so far, Madam." Mrs. Reynolds assured her on the first of many meetings. It had made Charlotte smile through the exhaustion. Running a big house like Pemberley was exhausting, as she quickly found, but she had help. It pained her to think that Darcy had been younger than she was now when his father died, and without a stewart to help him.

"Do you think so?" She asked nervously, before biting her lip. She was not supposed to ask questions like that. How could the servants respect her if the housekeeper did not, and how could Mrs. Reynolds respect her new mistress if she behaved like such a child? On a single woman it was an attractive trait, but as a Mrs of a great place it did not do to act the girl. Her position demanded a firm hand, and Charlotte did not have much of a firm anything.

If only there were not so many choices!

Menus for every meal and decorating and learning how to manage the impossible amount of little chores she was responsible for. She enjoyed dithering over every decorating choice very much, being expected of her that she change the rooms to her tastes, since they were so wonderful already and the changes were on a small scale. Certainly she did not intend to change all of Pemberley, or even all the parts of Pemberly that were now her domain. But the other choices had a greater weight to them, involved people instead of furniture.

It became increasingly clear as weeks turned to months that her education had been lacking. Her brother's had been generous in anything that gave her and, by association them, a higher standing in society, apparently ignoring the duties of the wife of a landowner. Deciding wages and visiting tenants had seemed like a far-away concept before, but not it was the bare bones of her life. Only this morning she had visited the houses of four different tenants, all of them with children that depended on the land and the landowner's for their livelihood.

No one could have denied that Christopher Bingley Jr. was a cunning businessman. Christopher Bingley Sr. had been more cautious, more capable, but his son was more resourceful. He had a propriety in Devon, a sister niece to an heir and hidden ties to successful firms that brought about the bulk of his fortune. Charlotte had once wanted to please him, but even then she had not wanted to be like him. He was cold, even she knew that, did not always say what he meant. No amount of affection could have blinded her for long, when he had been he one in charge of her future.

Now, however, Charlotte's perspective had changed. It happened, she was told, when one grew up. She might be a woman, one not much inclined to great bursts of drive or a thirst for devoted learning, but she was a Bingley of Ireland, a Darcy of Pemberly. Among new family and friends, a similar desire to succeed came to her, and while the challenges did not make her bravery grow, they steeled her determination, vague as it was. People depended on her, and if there was one thing Charlotte disliked was failing others.

She was starting to wonder if failing herself might not be even worse.

 

They usually left the door between their chambers open, for easier comings and goings, sending remarks and jest every each way. Sometimes Charlotte had the strange impression that her new married life was very similar to the one lead by students living together at Oxford, parallels existences of learning in close proximity.

In this case they learned life with one another.

Charlotte was a rotten scholar, but she was decent with people, in the sense that she liked the majority of them a great deal. Darcy was rotten with most people and a dedicated student to whatever caught his fancy. Between the two of them they stumbled through the first year of marriage with long periods of study leading up to occasional failures and pleasant successes.

This is what she learned, that first year:

Darcy slept fitfully, sometimes not at all. He was always too hot and did not like lying in his belly.

He hated eggs, which she already knew, but had never believed. The Cook had goggled when she'd asked for them for breakfast. He wrinkled his nose at the smell every time, especially when she dunked bread in the yoke, but she liked them too much to care for his expression.

For some reason she could not start to understand, he loved spinach soup. It made things even, because she, like most sensible creatures on God's green earth, loathed spinach.

He always loved her paintings, in the same manner he always enjoyed Georgiana's music: because they were hers and so he allowed himself to see virtues in them.

Every morning the weather allowed and often when it did not, he went on a ride around the estate. She had taken to getting up early to meet him for breakfast, still groggy, for the sake of the smile he brought with himself inside.

Charlotte Darcy had known how much her husband loved Pemberley before meeting him but it was only on her first year of marriage that she understood why.

 

  
This is what Fitzwilliam Darcy came to know about his wife on the time after their wedding:

She only called people what they liked to be called. This was probably because her elder brother had the bad habit of calling people by an unwanted nickname, including his sister. When asked, she preferred to be called Lottie to Char or Lotte or Charlie, and did not even blink when he said he disliked his first name and preferred never to be called by it.

She was not in the habit of waking up sooner than breakfast, probably because she stayed up later than advisable. She could not seem to help it: her energy made her jittery, and she was always involved in half a dozen projects, most of them unfinished. It was somewhat endearing, mostly annoying.

For someone so naturally abiding, Charlotte was restless. She could not be stopped for long. Only painting calmed her, gave her pause. She was easy to guide to a decision and quick to ask for advice unless she realized it was being given without her asking, at which point she grew prideful in her independence. This happened more and more.

She added bread in most every meal. In this as in other little acts her roots showed. Bread in soup, eggs, sauce. It was crass, but, he admitted, rather tempting.

The greenhouse was her favorite place of the house. It was hard to discern, since she spend a great deal of time in many rooms, but it was to the greenhouse that she took her canvas and water colors their first winter together. Only charcoals and watercolors, so the plants were not affected. Sometimes he sat beside her reading, while her hand gripped the easel and she smudged her cheeks without noticing.

Charlotte had more ambition than she knew. She was brighter than she suspected and carelessly cruel in ways he had not expected. There was a softness in her that he admired, for how she turned it to strength.

  
They do not have a first fight, as it were. They had arguments and petty disputes that became fights when Charlotte realized she was always the one making concessions. Then she simply stopped letting him be right always.

It was difficult. Darcy was older, more educated, confident in himself. He was also the husband she had sworn to obey. But that did not change that he was also the very mule-headed friend she lived with, who was occasionally an ass.

Worse, an unrepentant ass.

The five days she spends avoiding his company and refusing to speak to beyond the bare courtesies is the most miserable of her life. She hates being cross with anyone, but when she was it was Darcy she went to for advice and comforting. Her anger flees her early on, her determination wavers. She locks herself on the morning room using the thick oils she rarely paints with so as not not to cede to temptation and apologize.

This was not about the topic of the argument. That was easy to forget and quite ridiculous in hindsight. It was about a hundred little things, dozens of ways in which Darcy was conceited and she wasn't, she was forthcoming and he wasn't. This was about being angry for her own sake. This is about deciding to embrace her feeling without hesitating or apologizing. Charlotte had never known how to fight back. She laughed at insults and at other thins as well, in case they were insults she had missed.

Everyone laughed. At one point, she couldn't remember when, she had stopped being flustered and miserable and started laughing along. It was only Darcy that never laughed; his disdain was a silent, invisible thing. He did not see it with clear eyes, did not realize it was a slight when he let it color every facet of his actions.

If Georgie were there neither of them would draw this out but she was away with the Matlocks so they were free to turn Pemberly into a battleground of petty squabbles. If it had been her brother Kit she would have been locked in her room already. Liberty was a heady, heavy drink, one she was trying not to be scared of overindulging.

 

At the end of the fifth day they find themselves together in the garden. Charlotte is filthy, learning to transplant growing lettuces from Mr. Madison the gardener. Her cheeks are red with the sun and his eyes are bright from the ride. For a moment she is terribly tempted to throw a tomato in his face.

She doesn't actually throw a tomato at him. They walk together for a while, and though neither will be able to remember who spoke first. One day they will laugh at both of their refusals to apologize.

They do not laugh then.

"You behaved like a prat." She tells him sternly, fighting with her lips. She always did smile when nervous, it was.

"I wasn't aware I did." He is honest, as always. "I find no fault in my actions, try as I might've that cannot be explained by your pride."

Charlotte goes cold, hot and mild in a matter of moments. It is a peculiar sensation. "How very curious. I could have said quite the same thing. You let your pride guide you constantly without questioning your rights to it." She takes a deep breath and speaks over him when he goes to interrupt. 'I know this because I am your friend firstly. I know how Ramsgate made you uncertain in your position in the world, as a caretaker and brother. It took that for you to question yourself. What sort of disaster must happen for you to continue pliant before your faults?"

She grins before his thunderous expression. It makes him blink. "Luckily for you, Darcy, your wife is open to beneficial growth. As in, a greater consideration of others feelings and a broader perspective of different measurements of worthiness. Starting with the assumption that anyone who is not a Darcy, associated with a Darcy or of similar standing to a Darcy, in character or position, is not deserving of equal respect."

"I assure you, I am quite prepared to drag you down with me."

His expression of astonished rage wilts in front of the set of her mouth. Darcy pales, much in the manner of a stubborn man whose days of unquestioned judgement are over. It is most satisfying.

 

"Stop doing that expression with your jaw."

"What expression?"

"This one, the jutting you could slice marble off. You are greeting new acquaintances, not facing Napoleon. It looks aggressive."

"There is nothing aggressive in my bearing. I was taught to stand in this manner since a child."

"And you are now being taught how to socialize without intimidating. Smile."

"I am."

"In practice, not in theory."

"I am."

"Good God Darcy, use your lips! I know you are capable of smiling. You do it reasonably often, even."

"Only because I am comfortable in your company."

"Flattery will do nothing for you at this junction. Now crinkle those eyes. Good. New we will work on easy small talk."

"I loathe small talk."

"I am aware. I promise, it is not so very hard."

"Previous experiences prove the contrary."

"Previous experiences have been proved null and void. Every conversation has a different partner and if not, always different circumstances. What you must remember is that people enjoy hearing themselves speak. If you must introduce a topic and nothing else occurs, look out of the window and comment on the weather. There will be a wealth of topics to draw from. A rainy day will last you for ten minutes of conversation, if you refer the roads and the mail."

"This is ridiculous."

"It is necessary. Sit down and be a good pupil now."

"You are enjoying this, are you not?"

"Whatever made you think so, dear husband?"

 

Georgiana was astonished, delighted then sweetly amused at the prospect of her perfect brother having conduct lessons from his wife. Charlotte was quite certain she thought it was a queen joust until she had come to request her presence. Goodness knew the dear girl could use all the sisterly support and education in the world, and Charlotte was determined to provide it.

 

  
"How ever did you manage it?" Countess Matlock asked. They were at a diner party, speaking for a moment by the jugs of wine a footman had served them.

The lady eyed the scene before them with impressed surprise. Her nephew was speaking to his elder cousin's college with an ease most would name mediocre friends but that she had never seen in all of the years he had been living.

Beside her Mrs Darcy sipped her white wine with a smile. She had had doubts about the girl, but times were changing. It was not so evil that Darcy had someone to keep him, and Pemberley on the track of the future. Besides, she was a sweet girl, generous and well meaning. Not terribly bright, but then that was not so very odd.

It would seem they had underestimated the girl a great deal. The Countess could respect that.

"Oh, that. I cannot be certain, but I have heard marriage has a beneficial effect on men's moods. I do not wish to take all the credit, of course." She hurried to add.

"Of course." Lady Fitzwilliam said faintly. Her ears must be deceiving her. She could have sworn she had heard Darcy commenting the state of the roads after spring rain.


End file.
